A Poem for Mary Ann
by bythepalmtrees
Summary: The Professor has never created a romantic composition, but feels compelled to make the attempt in order to express his feelings for a special someone.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note: I love and appreciate ALL the characters on Gilligan's Island, having grown up with them, so to speak, by watching the show since I was a little girl. They are all unique and wonderful in my eyes. My heart does feels a little extra tug, however, when I think of the Professor and Mary Ann, therefore, some compositions I had been working on over time, such as this one, are tales pairing the two together. **_

_**Thank you in advance for your anticipated kindness and indulgence as I add one of my little trinkets, insignificant as it may be, to this online treasure trove. I am not a writer by any means, and my offerings in this arena will certain pale in comparison to the works of the truly talented contributors on this board. I am embarking upon this endeavor solely out of love for a show that gave me joy as a child, and as a happy trip of the imagination to a beloved tropic isle - just for a small diversion from the far more serious matters of life…..**_

CHAPTER 1

Write her a poem. Write her a poem? That was indeed the Skipper's advice to the Professor when he mustered up the courage to go and consult his friend about how to share the feelings he had developed for a certain special someone on the island…

After the Professor had managed to stammer out his predicament and confess his conundrum, the Skipper slapped him on the back with a hearty smile and said, "You're just figuring this out now? I've been noticing how well you two get along for quite some time. You're clearly smitten with her, and she seems just as fond of you. It's high time you did something about it!"

"But what do I say? I'm no good with words of romance. How would I even bring up such a subject?" asked the Professor, with eyes that virtually pleaded for assistance. The Skipper felt bad for the poor man. So intelligent and gifted in so many areas, yet here – dealing with emotions and interactions of a more personal nature – he was at a total loss. He could tell from the Professor's face that he must have been losing quite a bit of sleep over this. He looked absolutely exhausted.

"What's the problem? Don't you feel comfortable around her? I mean… you do spend a lot of time together. These past few months I've been noticing that you've been asking for her help more often than before... to hunt down plant specimens and what not. You both spend time almost every day working on the garden too. Surely you two must talk all the time," stated the sailor with a slightly quizzical look on his face.

"But that's just it, Skipper," the Professor replied sadly. "I have no problem talking about scientific findings, events of the day, or even childhood stories. Actually, the fact that I am so comfortable around her has led me, over time, to express my deep feelings on many, many subjects… and she has shared hers with me as well."

"That's why I'm asking – what's the problem?" countered the Skipper with greater force.

"This is different. I've never talked about… matters of the heart… with _any_ woman. I'm a Professor with six degrees, and have given lectures to thousands on multiple subjects, yet now I find myself petrified beyond belief. I don't know how I can face her and tell her what I feel about… well, her."

"Well, in that case, why don't you write her a poem?" suggested the Skipper. "The ladies love that kind of thing. Gets 'em right here," he said as he tapped his chest right over his heart with his large fist.

The advice seemed solid enough, so he had headed out of the Skipper's hut, still filled with trepidation, but determined to follow his friend's direction. However, as he walked, it occurred to him that he was no better off with this newly formulated plan of action. How on earth was he to compose a poem? He had no idea how to even go about such a thing. As much as he hated to discuss his personal feelings with the others, he was reaching the point of desperation, and decided it would be wise to consult just one other castaway for input; someone well-versed in social matters.

"A poem? How simply delightful!" cried Mrs. Howell, clasping her hands together gleefully. "Women _adoooore_ poetry. I remember when my darling Thurston first began calling on me. He would write the most divinely inspired little novelettes. However," she paused, touching her gloved hand to her face, "I do recall finding out later that he had his secretary compose them for him, and then he just re-wrote them in his own hand. How utterly unromantic that was. I was furious when I found out! I can't believe I had forgotten about that. Oh, that man!" she grumbled with ferocity, already distracted from the matter at hand, and quickly working herself up into a determined, yet reserved, bout of righteous indignation. "I will have to speak to him about his most impertinent behavior immediately! Why, who knows how many other personal notes to me that he has had his secretary compose while we have been marooned here on this dreary little island!"

"But, Mrs. Howell, his secretary is not here on this island with us," the Professor reminded her kindly.

"Oh dear. I suppose you're right," she said, then quickly regained her smile. "Well then dear boy, hurry along then and get to work. Just make sure to write the poem yourself and do not have your staff handle such a personal matter. It would be quite improper."

"I'll be sure to remember that. Thank you very much for your assistance, Mrs. Howell," was the Professor's respectful, yet slightly disappointed reply. No assistance there.

He went back to his hut to think. He leafed through some of the books comprising their limited island library: _The World of Facts_, _A Million Ways to Make a Million_, _The History of Tree Surgery_ and finally _Hamlet_, but no words were found to aid him in his endeavor. As he closed the last volume, he placed his elbows on table, rested his chin on his hands, and let out a defeated sigh.

He decided to take a walk that evening to a rather high rock formation overlooking the beach, hoping for some inspiration. He knew very well how he felt inside. He was just unsure of how to put the words to paper in a way that would touch the human heart. There had to be a way to come up with a poem to express his feelings for the one whom he was now sure was the absolute love of his life.

The night was clear, and the stars were shining brightly. It was so clear in fact, that he could quite easily pick out Venus glowing brighter and larger than the others stars. He began to think of the truly incredible view of the night sky that they had here on the island, as opposed to what they could see back on the mainland, where the city lights and pollution obscured so much of nature's beauty. As he thought how truly wondrous it was that he could distinguish a planet so far away with the naked eye, he caught himself humming a little tune that was taught to him as a memory aid back when he was a young boy, just beginning his journey into the world of science. He began to sing out the words softly…

"_My very educated mother just served us nine perfect pies…"_

He laughed – both at the silly wording, and at the fact that he still remembered it, so many years later. Of course, that was indeed the point of a mnemonic device or any acronym, he thought to himself… to stick something in your mind so you could remember it over and over. In this case, the beginning letter of each word of the phrase set to a catchy little tune signified a different planet, and their position, in extending order, out from the sun: Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune and Pluto. Why there was the extra "P" at the end was beyond him. Perhaps just for the sake of the flow of the song he supposed.

It occurred to him that such a similar methodology was indeed also used in poetry of sorts.

With arms crossed, and one hand to his chin, one eyebrow suddenly raised. _That's it! _ he thought to himself. He stood there for a moment as he continued to contemplate his newly formed idea.

He could use this as a jumping off point for his poem. What if he took her name as the foundation, the acronym, and just wrote a line for each letter? He could even attempt to make the lines rhyme. _If all else fails… at least she will remember it,_ he thought, smiling to himself.

He headed back quickly to his hut with a little bit of newly found confidence and direction, took out what he was using for paper and pencil, and wrote the letters down the side of the page, slowly and deliberately…. M…A…R…Y…A…N…N.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Now came the hard part - baring his deepest feelings. Once he had the first line down though, he was surprised at how quickly his thoughts began to come to him. By the time he had reached the final letter "N" however, he realized he needed additional content to finish a rhyme in progress, as well as to come to the point. He added on a few more lines, to include an expression of what he wanted to say.

"No, no … this is no good!" he proclaimed out loud, wincing in disgust after analyzing his final production. It seemed rather juvenile to him. He had hopes of writing something profound and flowing, much in the manner of Keats or Browning. Yet here in his hands he held something very far afield from what he had envisioned, and he was somewhat embarrassed. The rhythm was uneven, and the wording was not what he wished. Nevertheless, there it was, laid out on the table. He let his eyes fall over the words once again…

**M **_agnificent are you, in beauty of mind, body and heart,_

**A **_ttuned so completely are we – you're my true counterpart._

**R **_iches and glory may make others feel whole,_

**Y **_et I find, without YOU, I'm an incomplete soul._

**A** _ll I can dream of is a life with us together,_

**N **_ever apart – I want to be with you forever._

**N **_othing would make me happier, out loud to say,_

**I **_love you deeply my dear, more and more each day._

**L **_etters and poems are not my mediums of choice,_

**O **_bservations and data are what usually give me my voice._

**V **_erbalizing my thoughts is what I'm attempting to do now,_

**E **_xcuse this clumsy approach – I really just don't know how._

**Y **_earning to be with you every moment, every day -_

**O **_h, please look in my eyes, and I hope that you may…_

**U **_nderstand the many feelings I am unable to say._

He was so engrossed in his fumbling composition that the Professor did not notice Mrs. Howell looking in at him through his open window. There he sat at his workbench, with his head buried in his hands, looking completely miserable.

_That poor man…_ she thought to herself. She could not bear to see him struggle so, and therefore decided to give him a little bit of assistance, after her own fashion of course.

Shortly thereafter a light tap on his door interrupted his project at hand.

"Knock, knock" came the lilting sing-song voice of his beloved, as she peeked her head in his doorway. "Mrs. Howell said you needed me to help you proof-read something that…"

Before she had completed her sentence, the Professor grabbed the piece of paper that he was laboring over, and made a quick attempt to hide it behind his back.

"Why, uh… hello Mary Ann," sputtered the Professor, hoping desperately that she had not seen his clumsy attempt to hide the poem. But it was too late.

She walked right up to him, and put her hands on her hips and tilted her head a bit, smiling as she said, "Now come on Professor… What are you hiding? I saw you put that paper behind your back. Mrs. Howell said you needed my help with something you were writing. I can't imagine being able to word anything better than you could, but I would be glad to help you if would like. Is it another portion for your book? Or a description of some new research? Why are you hiding it?" came her questions, one after the other, in rapid succession.

His mind raced to think of a simple and plausible response to her queries, but he could come up with none. He simply sat there with his mouth open, managing only to mutter, "I... well… I…"

Mary Ann had been worrying about him for the past week. He was looking increasing tired, and was not spending as much time with her as he usually did. She could always tell when he had something on his mind of a serious nature. Something was clearly bothering him. Now this strange behavior had her concerned. It wasn't like the Professor to keep things from her. What could possibly be wrong? And what was behind that strange look on his face?

Her concern for him overrode any curiosity she initially had over the contents of his writing, and it drew her in closer and softened her tone. "Show me what you have," she said, sitting down beside him and putting her hand gently on his arm. "Please…"

He looked at her for a moment, at a loss over what to do. She was so sweet, and so sincere… and he always found it very hard to resist her requests when she looked up at him with those big brown eyes. Reluctantly, he handed over the sheet of paper, but cast his eyes downward, unable to watch the reaction that would follow the reading of his exposed feelings.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

As her eyes poured over the words, Mary Ann felt a strange sensation move through her chest. It was not at all what she was expecting to find. Instead of seeing formulas and Latin-derived descriptives, there were words of love and feelings, and rhyming sentences. What was happening? The Professor – writing poetry? Clearly he was deeply in love with someone, but the party remained unnamed, and the poem was not addressed. Conflicting emotions passed quickly through her. She and the Professor had grown closer and closer over time, and she knew that her feelings for him went far beyond friendship. Secretly she harbored hopes that those feelings were returned. But now, reading these words gave her concern rather than hope. Who was he referring to? Who was this poem for? She knew of Ginger's often displayed affectionate feelings toward the Professor. Did he feel the same way about her?

Trying to keep her emotions in check, she carefully re-read the poem, hoping desperately to find some clue as to who her beloved Professor was referring to. Finally, it caught her eye. The lines looked slightly displaced and the first letter of each line clearly stood out. She wanted to let out a squeal of joy as she decoded the now quite obviously embedded message, but when she looked up from the paper, all she saw was her dear one, his shoulders slumped, and his eyes cast down - as dejected looking as she had ever seen him.

"Professor?"

He did not respond, nor did he lift his eyes up. He just could not bear to look at her while she voiced the words of rejection he thought were certain to come.

"Professor," Mary Ann said once again, this time gently lifting his chin and turning his face toward hers.

Once again, softly and with great love she said, "Professor," and he finally looked up.

Her smiling and sparkling eyes looked deeply into his. She kept them fixed there until his expression and countenance slowly rose and equaled that of hers. Those beautiful blue eyes of his were soulful and deep, and they did speak volumes. All the feelings he had been unable to express, in audible or in written form, were right there, and she did understand them fully now. Mary Ann's feelings were also no longer a mystery to the Professor. His fears and insecurities were completely unwarranted. The look in her eyes, and the expression on her face revealed all the emotion and return of affections that he was hoping to find. Their smiles and joy continued to grow exponentially as they stared at one another, with still no other words being spoken.

Unable to contain herself any longer, Mary Ann finally did let out the squeal she had temporarily been able to contain, and she threw her arms around the Professor, hanging onto him with such force that she almost knocked him out of his chair. He held onto her as tightly as he had that night they were tossed about at sea, long, long ago. But now it was not danger or fear pushing them into each other's arms. It was nothing but love.

Finally, Mary Ann pulled back and looked at the Professor, with a funny little smile on her face.

"What is it dear?" he asked, smiling back at her.

"I can't believe you wrote me a poem!" she exclaimed, looking at him adoringly.

_Could she possibly have actually enjoyed that ridiculous composition?_ wondered the Professor to himself. "Ah, yes, well… I fear I must tell you that the 'masterpiece' you hold in your hands may be my one and only foray into the world of poetic expression. That was the most difficult thing I have ever attempted," he admitted.

"But it is so beautiful…" Mary Ann protested, "….and I'm going to treasure it forever. Even more so now if this is going to be the one and only poetic production of Roy Hinkley, Ph.D. It may be worth a fortune some day," she said playfully.

That last comment was what finally eliminated the last vestige of all the stress and strain that the Professor had been feeling. As he thought of his feeble attempt at a rhyming verse of affection lumped in with all his intensely intricate and complex scientific renderings, the image that formed in his mind was truly absurd, ludicrous… comical. He burst out into a hearty laugh, and Mary Ann joined right in with him.

The poem had proven to be the perfect catalyst to allow the floodgates that held back their feelings to break open wide. Now they found themselves able to discuss 'matters of the heart' as the Professor had put it, as comfortably as they would any other subject. They began to tell each other everything - all the things they were thinking throughout the years that they had been on the island, what they noticed and loved about each other, their hopes and dreams for their life together, either on the island or back on the mainland if rescued. They had so much to talk about, and so many plans to make for their future together.

The Professor regaled Mary Ann with tales of his tortured attempts to confess his love. Mary Ann, in turn, confessed to all the tiny little things that she had done as efforts to hide her true feelings for him. They reveled in the amusing nature of it all, and were relieved beyond belief that all the anxiety and subterfuge was now far behind them. Perhaps it was not the intensely serious, deeply romantic conversation that one might expect to see in the movies at the revelation of love revealed, but this was truly the happiest either of them had ever been. They were so overjoyed, they were giddy. So they laughed. A lot.

The exact words were muffled, but the sounds of the happy laughter and conversation echoed clearly through the night air and across the compound just far enough to reach the ears of Gilligan and the Skipper.

"What do you think all that's about, Skipper?" asked Gilligan as he swayed back and forth in his hammock.

"Never mind, Little Buddy. Just go to sleep," directed the Skipper from his lower bunk.

"But, Skipper, what could they be laughing about? Maybe something really funny is on the radio," continued Gilligan.

The Skipper rolled his eyes and shook his head as he waited for Gilligan to realize the he was holding the softly playing radio in his own hands.

The revelation came seconds later.

"No, wait. I have the radio, so they can't be listening to the radio, so what could they be laughing at?" Gilligan continued to wonder out loud. Shutting the radio off he suggested, "Maybe we should go over there and see what's happening."

"Stay where you are, Gilligan," ordered the captain.

"But, Skipper," he protested, "what do you think is going on?"

"Actually, Gilligan, I think it has something to do with poetry," replied the Skipper, smiling.

"Poetry? Who laughs because of a poem? I don't know what you're talking about. Now I've heard of people crying over poems but laughing… I don't…"

"That's enough!" barked the Skipper. "I'll explain it to you in the morning. Now go to sleep!"

"Okay Skipper," Gilligan replied obediently. He put the radio beside him on the hammock, pulled his hat down over his eyes, crossed his arms over his chest and was soon snoring away.

The Skipper continued to smile in his bunk below, musing over how things in their little island community were in for a big change. Apparently his advice had worked out well. He wondered what the Professor had managed to come up with.

_He's good with words… He probably talked about some scientific mumbo-jumbo, _he speculated. _ Maybe that's what had Mary Ann laughing. Or maybe it was all about plants. That must have been it, _decided the Skipper._ He's always talking about plants… Or maybe flowers, _his thought train continued_. _

_Yes, girls certainly DO like flowers, _he concluded, as he contemplatively stroked his chin.

Perhaps he should try his hand a bit of poetry himself, he thought. However, instead of reciting one of the rough-edged sailor tales he had committed to memory, he decided it would be better if he could construct an entirely new verse, and focus on flowers as well.

_Yes, flowers are what would touch the heart of a lady,_ he affirmed inwardly.

Settling comfortably into his hammock, with Gilligan still snoring above, the Skipper began to test some words out loud. "My love is like a red ti-ger li-ly," he muttered through a long, drawn out yawn. But that was a far as he got. His eyes closed, and he quickly and contentedly drifted off to sleep.

THE END

(Please note that this story is not quite complete. An epilogue shall be posted shortly in chapter four.)


	4. EPILOGUE

_**Author's Note: Thanks for all the kind reviews and support…**_

EPILOGUE:

Several days later, the Professor found a scroll of sorts, rolled up and neatly tied with one of Mary Ann's hair bows, sitting atop his workbench. The note attached said only, "From Me to You..."

Carefully, yet anxiously, the Professor removed the bow and unfurled the paper. So moved was the man of science at the reading of its contents that a teardrop was soon rolling down his cheek. Although he felt his heart could not contain the emotions they provoked, he let his eyes fall once more over the words, written out with great care, in the delicate hand of the girl that had made his life begin anew…

**R** _eaching into one's heart is not easy, nor is turning a feeling into a 'verbalized thought',_

**O** _nly true love would move the sanest of men, to be so overcome… overwrought._

**Y** _et you finally summoned your courage, cleverly using a poem to have your say,_

**H** _appily you found the most perfect method, your feelings to finally convey!_

**I ** _looked at you with great wonder, peering deep into your beautiful blue eyes,_

**N**_ ever in life had I seen such a love – but there it was, without any disguise._

**K**_ now that I will always be right by your side, and my heart truly belongs to you,_

**L**_ aughter and joy shall now fill my days, as my dreams have finally come true._

**E** _very road you desire to follow, or whatever course you may choose to take,_

**Y** _ou can count on me to support you – that's a promise I can readily make._

**I **_nnumerable the times you were there for me; around me you wrapped your arm,_

**L** _ike the truest protector and guardian, keeping me safe from danger and harm._

**O** _ne day passed along after another, and clearer and clearer it proved to be,_

**V** _ital and strong, thoughtful and calm – you were the most perfect match for me!_

**E**_ xiled by shipwreck sat we seven, huddled around a fire to keep warm,_

**Y**_ et out of that tragedy came triumph – you're the rainbow that came after the storm._

**O**_ h, what a gift I've been given, and how my heart soars the skies as a dove,_

**U** _ntil the end of time, you will always be mine - my scholar, my hero, my love._


End file.
